


The Reports of my Death

by Shorina



Category: Death in Paradise
Genre: Canon Divergence, Crime, Fix-It, Gen, Murder Mystery, Mystery, Plot, Plotty
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-12-11
Updated: 2016-12-11
Packaged: 2018-09-07 21:21:10
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 12
Words: 10,378
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8816611
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Shorina/pseuds/Shorina
Summary: Richard Poole suddenly seems very accident-prone and the local newspaper even reports that he's been stabbed. Is he really the second British DI to be killed on Saint-Marie?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Noxnoctisanima](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Noxnoctisanima/gifts).



> This story takes place around S03E01, but diverges from canon. I only really used Richard's stabbing at the college reunion from that episode.

>   
>  **Policeman Stabbed at College Reunion**  
>  British Detective Inspector Richard Poole, for the last two years seconded to Saint-Marie's police force, was stabbed to death yesterday while attending a college reunion on the island. […]

  


Fidel Best finished reading the article in the local newspaper to his colleagues. “With that photo I don't think anyone will doubt the story,” he concluded. He didn't need to hold the newspaper up as Camille Bordey and Dwayne Myers were standing at his side, studying the news item themselves.

“No way, the Chief looks like a dead rat,” Dwayne confirmed.

Camille frowned a little at his choice of words but had to agree with the gist of it. “That was the plan after all.”

“And what plan was that?” Commissioner Patterson had entered their office without either of them noticing his arrival. “And why wasn't I informed of it?”

“Inspector Poole felt the best way to go forward with the investigation was to stage his death,” Camille explained.

“I gathered that much from the email Sergeant Best sent me.” He glanced at the young man. “Which did not provide any details which investigation it relates to, nor any reason for why I was kept in the dark about it.”

“I'm sorry, Sir. I'm sure the Inspector meant to inform you, but things just happened too quickly.”

“Yes, it was all a bit of a rush-job,” Dwayne confirmed. “Which is why we now have no idea where the Chief is.”

Patterson glared at him for a moment, then turned to Camille. “Maybe you'd like to bring me up to speed now?”

“Yes, Sir.” Camille suppressed a sigh and started to go over the events of the last days.


	2. Chapter 2

**Sunday**  
“Moron, watch where you're driving!” Richard Poole had only just been able to jump back when a motorcycle suddenly swerved and very nearly knocked him over. He put his outburst down to the sudden rush of adrenaline from the near miss. Unfortunately he hadn't been able to get the licence or he'd have charged the rider with reckless driving.

 

**Monday**  
Honoré's main street was busy as usual with what passed for rush hour traffic on Saint-Marie. Accustomed to it – and far worse from London – Richard had made his way nearly half across the street when the car he was passing in front of suddenly jerked forward. He was able to escape being mangled between its bumper and the car in front of it by throwing himself forward. His lunge was stopped by the passenger door of the car queueing in the opposite direction. He quickly recovered and turned to bang on the offending driver's window.

“I'm so terribly sorry, my foot slipped off the clutch! Are you alright?”  
The woman driving the car seemed so shocked to Richard, he assured her there was no harm done, cautioned her to be more careful in the future, and went on his way, dabbing at his forehead and neck with his ever-present handkerchief.

 

**Tuesday**  
“What happened to your bag?” were not the words Richard had expected to hear first thing when he entered Honoré Police station that morning.

“Why – what do you mean?”

“There's a cut in it,” Camille pointed out.

Richard lifted his briefcase and couldn't believe his eyes. Camille was right, there was a long gash in it that hadn't been there when he had set off from home.

“Good God, that must have happened when I had to push through the ever-present bustle of vendors down in the market.”

Dwayne had studied the bag from his perch, his feet on the desktop. “Looks like a cut indeed, Chief.”

Richard fingered the rift. “Yes, it does,” he confirmed, sounding a little bewildered. He opened the briefcase and looked inside. “Or rather, a stab.” He pulled out his lunch-box which showed a similar gash, only not as long.

Camille seemed worried. “That could have been nasty if the box hadn't stopped the blade. Who did this?”

“Fancy if I know.” Richard studied his ruined lunch-box from all sides before turning to look out the door in the direction of the busy market. “Why would anyone stab my briefcase?”

“Looks like an upward stab,” Fidel suggested.

“It does rather.” Richard replaced the box in the briefcase and lifted the bag up to his chest protectively, looking down to help him picture what had happened.

“I don't think they meant to stab your lunch, Chief.”

“No, Dwayne, neither do I. In fact, I think someone just tried to kill me.”

**… later**

Camille dropped Richard off at home with the Land Rover. 

“Thanks, Camille.”

“No problem,” she assured him as he turned away. “I'll pick you up in the morning!” she called after him.

Richard acknowledged it with a brief wave of his hand and headed towards the beach-hut he called home.

Camille glanced around and, spotting no imminent danger nor any traffic, drove off. It was thus she didn't see Richard stumble and stagger as his foot went through the second step leading up to the little porch of his hut. Though he refused to let go of his briefcase, he managed to stop himself from crashing head-first onto the porch with the other hand.

Once he had removed all wooden splinters from his palm and leg, and disinfected the small wounds, Richard inspected the damaged step. The reason for this accident was easy enough to spot when you knew what you were looking for: someone had sawn half through the board of the step. Not far enough to make it obvious when approaching it, but obvious after someone had tread on it. Half of the board showed the fairly clean cut made by the saw, the other half was all ragged splinters.


	3. Chapter 3

**Wednesday**  
In the morning Camille showed up at Richard's place with a near deathly pallor.

Richard got in the car, oblivious to it. “Morning, Camille.”

It was only when he got no response, and Camille made no attempt to put the Land Rover into motion, that he looked at her more closely.

“Camille? Camille!”

She finally turned to look at him and he raised an eyebrow at her shocked expression. “It was just on the radio. There's a bounty of 20,000€ on your head.”

“Well, that would explain a lot,” Richard said very matter-of-factly.

“Does that not bother you?”

Richard evaded answering. “Wait – you said you heard it on the radio?”

Camille nodded.

“What exactly did they say?”

Camille thought for a brief moment. “Someone set up a website promising a 20,000€ reward for your death.”

“That's all?”

She nodded.

“Then what are you waiting for? Do you know the way to the station?”

Camille frowned, of course she knew how to get to the police station, but her mind finally recovered from the shock of hearing the news. Richard meant the radio station.

“Yes, it's right here in Honoré.”

“Good. I'll fill you in on the latest developments on the way.”

“Developments?!”

She put the car into gear and Richard told her about the sabotaged step at his home. “Which reminds me – do you know a good carpenter? I want that step fixed as soon as possible before someone gets seriously injured.”

 

**At the radio station**  
Radio Saint-Marie turned out to be a very small station with just one man present when Richard and Camille arrived.

“DI Richard Poole,” Richard held up his warrant card, “and this is Detective Sergeant Camille Bordey. I believe you ran a story on me,” he checked his watch, “about twenty minutes ago?”

“Oh, you're that man with the money on his head! Some bad joke, that.”

“It's not a -”Camille started, but Richard cut her off.

“Very tasteless, definitely. How did you hear of it, Mr...?”

“Jerome. Jerome Marsh,” the man introduced himself, then shuffled through some papers wildly spread out over his desk until he found the one he was looking for. He held it out to Richard who studied it, then took out his handkerchief before taking it. He didn't have much hope of finding any fingerprints on it after the handling it had obviously received at the station, but he wasn't going to take any chances.

The paper seemed to be regular printer paper with large black and white text saying:

> REWARD – 20,000€ - For details check

The text was followed by a large QR-code.

“It leads to a website that says there's a 20,000€ reward for proof of your murder.”

“Where did you get this?” Camille asked.

“They're up on lamp-posts and such all over town.”

“What?! And you didn't report this?”

“Of course I did!” Jerome sounded offended. “It's great news!”

“She meant to the police.”

“Oh, no, well, not directly. You heard it, though, or you wouldn't be here.”

Camille wanted to chop Jerome's head off, but Richard was the first to speak.

“Someone will be by later to take your full statement and your prints for elimination purposes. Camille?” He motioned for her to leave and after one last glare at Jerome, she complied.

“What an idiot!” she exclaimed as they got back in the car. “Why did you let him believe it's a joke?”

“We have no proof it's not. Some people are apparently taking it seriously, but that may not be the intention behind this.”

“Bit of an effort for just a joke.”

“It is. Which is why I don't think it is. But a suspicion doesn't prove anything. Let's head to the office. Chop, chop.”

 

**Honoré Police Station**  
“Fidel, check this for fingerprints,” Richard said instead of good morning when he entered the office with Camille following on his heels. “Then go to Radio Saint-Marie and question a Mr. Jerome Marsh about it. You should also take his prints.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fidel confirmed. “What's this about?”

“It's an incitement to my murder.”

“What?!”

“Oh, also find out all you can about that website it refers to.”

“And get it shut down as quickly as you can,” Camille added.

“In fact, no, don't do that.”

“What?! Why not?”

“There is nothing on this poster that provides any way to contact the person who set this up. The website might be the only way to get in touch with the initiator.”

“But we can't let more people see this! They're taking it seriously! It's dangerous!”

Fidel had called the website up on his phone while Richard and Camille had been arguing and now quickly copied the address onto his desktop computer. “I think you'll want to see this.”

The three of them gathered around his screen and studied the site. It showed several photos of Richard, a repetition of the reward and details about the task. The bounty would be paid to the person who could – beyond doubt – proof they had murdered DI Richard Poole. Contact instructions would be made available after the news of his death had broken.

“They could at least have taken better pictures. I look horrible in those,” Richard complained.

“Where were they taken?” Camille asked.

Richard studied them more closely. “Different places, it seems. And different days.” He frowned. “Someone must have been following me.”

“You didn't notice?”

“No, Camille, I didn't notice. I thought that much had been clear from my words. Where's Dwayne?”

“Right here, Chief,” Dwayne came from the back where the restrooms were.

“You need to see this, Dwayne,” Fidel said, unable yet to take his eyes off the offending website.

“What's it – some hot girls?” He walked over and looked at the screen. “What?! Who'd post something like that?!” 

“A very good question, Dwayne, that's exactly what we need to find out. But first we have to stop word of this getting out.” Richard pointed to the poster that now lay on Fidel's desk. “Apparently there are plenty of those posted all over town. Take them down, if you please.”

“What they?” Dwayne asked, reaching for the poster.

“Ah, don't touch it. Possible prints.” Dwayne quickly withdrew his hand. “Actually, best wear gloves when you take the rest of them down. Just to be sure.”

“The poster points to this website,” Fidel cut in to answer Dwayne's question.

Usually Dwayne would have complained about the menial task of taking down posters, but this was a serious threat against one of their own. That made it different. “On it, Chief.”

“Good, good. Now, Fidel. Find out who created this website and then take Mr. Marsh's statement.”

“Yes, Sir.”

“Camille, you and I will try to figure out when and where these photos were taken.”


	4. Chapter 4

**… later on Wednesday**  
By late afternoon they had all gathered again at the station. Dwayne had brought in close to fifty posters, Fidel had taken Jerome Marsh's statement and prints and had compared them to those on the poster. As expected they were all over it, with only some smudged half-prints visible beside them that were of no help.

Richard and Camille had pored over the photos and established most of the dates and places they had been taken. They all bore the style of observation shots. Richard had obviously been followed.

“You think the baddie was following you himself, Chief?” Dwayne asked his superior who, as usual, was standing in front of their white-board. A copy of the poster, a screenshot of the website and printouts of all photos, with dates and places noted underneath, were pinned there.

“Actually, no, I don't. This is a person using others to do the dirty work for him. I don't see him following me around the island.”

“Or her,” Camille suggested.

“Yes. That's also a possibility.”

“Vengeful lover?” Dwayne suggested.

“Don't take your personal life as a point of reference,” Fidel said, grinning.

Dwayne pulled a face at him. “Very funny, Fidel.”

“I think we can rule out that option,” Richard stated to cut the bickering short.

“If he or she didn't follow you personally, then who did? A private investigator?” Camille suggested.

“Now that, Camille, is both a good question and a valid option. Now, who'd take the job of observing a policeman?” Richard looked from one of his colleagues to the next. “Anyone?”

“I have a suspicion who might,” Dwayne said thoughtfully. “I'll check him out.”

“Good.” Richard tapped his marker against the screenshot of the website. “Fidel, any luck finding out who created this website?”

“Sorry, Sir. No. It's run on a free blogging server. All you need to provide to register is a valid email address. I checked with the company running the site, the email used is one of those throw-away addresses that forward only a few emails and then get deleted. I haven't been able to reach anyone at the email provider for them to check their logs where it got forwarded to. I've also sent a request to the blogging site to check the IP-address of the creator in their logs, but haven't heard back yet.”

“If either of them keep any logs in the first place,” Camille said with foreboding.

“So we might have reached a dead-end there,” Richard stated.

“I'll keep trying, Sir.”

“Very good, Fidel, that's the spirit.”

“So what's next? Marsh seems like a dead-end, we're not getting anywhere with the website...”

“Dwayne, did you note down where you found the posters?”

“Yes, you keep preaching about the importance of evidence, don't you?”

“Were any posted near places with CCTV? Few as there are in Honoré.”

Dwayne pulled his notepad out of his pocket and flipped through it. “Near yes, but I don't think their cameras will have picked up anything.”

“When did the posters get put up anyway? Do we know?” Camille interjected.

Blank stares were the answers of the two uniformed policemen.

“Saturday, Sunday at the latest.”

Camille turned to Richard. “Why then?”

“Because I'm pretty certain the first attempt on my lift happened on Sunday.”

“You didn't mention that?!”

“No, I took it for nothing but reckless driving, someone riding on his motorbike when he shouldn't be. You know, Sunday morning, people still a little inebriated from Saturday night. Happens all the time. But now I see it in a different light.” He turned to add a brief list of every near escape he'd had over the last few days to the board. “I'm not sure about the second one, though. The driver seemed genuinely sorry and startled. That might really have been nothing but an accident.”

“Do you know the driver's name?”

“No,” he admitted a little sheepishly. “But I do remember the licence.”

“I can check it,” Fidel offered.

Richard reached for pen and paper and wrote the number down for Fidel. “We can question her again. Too bad I didn't get the number of the motorcycle.”

“What type of bike?” Dwayne asked.

“Hm? Oh, I don't know. Pretty old, could do with some fresh paint. Pretty loud, too.”

Dwayne rolled his eyes. “Now that narrows it down to about half the bikes on the island. Was it a chopper, a street bike, an off-road bike?”

“Yes, one of those, I'm sure.”

Dwayne could tell he wouldn't get any details out of Richard on the bike so he let it go for now. It probably would have led them nowhere anyway. The whole scheme seemed set up so that no-one knew who had offered the bounty on the inspector's head.

“I'll go track down the P.I. then,” he stated and headed for the door.

“Good. Well, I think we should call it a day.” Richard reached for his briefcase, which he had repaired to the best of his abilities with some cloth and glue the previous night. The work had calmed his nerves after the incident with the sabotaged step.

“Maybe you'd better not stay at home tonight,” Camille suggested.

“Why on earth not?!”

“Oh, you know, there is that small matter of a 20,000€ reward for your murder and you refusing to let us take the website down. We don't know how many people already visited that site, and even without the posters, word will spread.”

“Especially on the internet,” Fidel agreed.

“And there's the report on the radio this morning. Half of Saint-Marie could have heard that.”

“Ah, but they mentioned neither the posters nor the address of the website,” Richard pointed out.

“No, but you can find it through google.” Fidel had just successfully tested this theory.

“So, those who heard it on the radio this morning can find the site easily enough.” Camille put her hands on her hips, challenging Richard to give in.

“And you presume the half of Saint-Marie's residents, who might or might not have heard the brief notice on the radio this morning, are now out to kill me?”

“They ran the story a couple of times throughout the day, Sir. Mr. Marsh was very proud of his investigative skills, to be the first to report on this. He boasted to me about it when I took his statement.”

“So all of Saint-Marie might have heard it by now.”

“Yes, I get your point. But -”

“Yes?”

Richard sat down behind his desk. “I'll go over my list of arrests, see if anyone stands out as the possible brain behind this incitement.”

“You plan to stay here all night?”

“In case you hadn't noticed, Camille, this is a police station. Surely I'm safe enough here.”

Camille shrugged. “I thought you might have preferred a hotel, but it's your decision.”

“So all of Saint-Marie might have heard the report on the radio but for staff and guests of hotels. Are you sure that's a logical assumption?”

Fidel shrugged as Camille looked over to him. “I'll try to get hold of the throw-away email provider. It might take a while.”

Now it was Camille's turn to shrug. “Fine, we're staying. But I'm hungry. Does anyone else want anything?”


	5. Chapter 5

**… meanwhile elsewhere in Honré**  
Dwayne had walked to the office of the private investigator he suspected to have taken on the job of observing his chief. The office was locked, but that didn't surprise him much. He walked on to a bar at the end of the road and quickly spotted the man he was looking for. He was trying to chat up a girl about half his age with apparently little success.

“Hello Ray,” Dwayne said, which distracted the P.I. long enough for the girl to slip away.

“Dwayne,” Ray said with a sigh. Then he noticed the disappearance of his prey and scowled at the officer. “Your timing could have been better.”

“Your chat-up lines could have been better,” Dwayne retorted. “Let's sit down, we gotta talk.” He reached for Ray's arm.

“Hey, easy, what's up?”

Dwayne guided him to a small table and they both sat down.

“Any interesting jobs lately?”

“Depends,” Ray replied cautiously.

“Observations?”

“Always. People are so mistrustful of each other. Especially married people.”

“Been observing anyone interesting lately?”

Ray didn't like being questioned like that. “Hey, I haven't done anything illegal.”

“I didn't say you did, Ray. But there's something like protesting too hard.”

Ray crossed his arms defensively and leaned back in his chair.

“OK, let's cut this short. Did you take a job to observe my chief?”

“Your chief? I don't even know who that is.”

“You're lying.”

“I'm not.”

“You are.”

“Prove it.”

“Ah, so you're not denying it!”

“What if I had? There's no law forbidding me to follow people of certain employ or standing.”

Dwayne smiled. “No, there isn't. Now, say you _had_ followed my chief, who would have employed you to do it?”

“If I _had_ I wouldn't give out my client's identity.”

“Then I would have to charge you with aiding and abetting to the incitement of murder.”

That got Ray's attention. “You what?”

Dwayne pulled a printout of one of the photos of Richard out of his shirt pocket and placed it on the table. “Did you take this?”

Ray glanced at it.

“What was that about murder?”

“This photo is used on a website that offers a bounty on my chief's head. Now – who paid you to take this?”

Ray paled a little. While he wasn't always a strict follower of the law, murder was way out of his league. “I don't know.”

“What do you mean – you don't know?”

Ray leaned forward, looked at the photo, then pushed it back to Dwayne. “I got a call – eleven days ago – asking me to follow DI Poole for a couple of days, note where he goes, what he does, take some photos. The caller offered me more than twice my usual rate, so I didn't ask a lot of questions.”

“Name?”

“John Smith.”

“You're kidding.”

Ray shook his head. “That's the name he gave me.”

“Number?”

“Withheld.”

“How did you get in touch then?”

“Not at all. I had instructions to leave my report and copies of the photos saved on a memory card at a specified place, where I exchanged it for my payment in cash.”

“So you never met this Mr. Smith?”

“No.”

“Where was that place?”

Ray gave him the location. “I went back the following day to see if it had been picked up – and it had.”

“You've not heard from Mr. Smith since?”

Ray shook his head.

Dwayne thought silently for a moment. “What about his voice? What accent?”

Now it was Ray's turn to think. “Probably a local. The same French-induced speech you hear all over Saint-Marie, Guadeloupe...”

“No foreigner, then?”

“I don't think so.”

“Nothing else that was special about him?”

Ray raised an eyebrow. “You mean aside from the way this whole business was organized?” 

Dwayne pushed himself up. “Thanks.”


	6. Chapter 6

**Thursday**

When Dwayne arrived at the station the next morning, he found Fidel asleep in his chair, head resting on folded arms on his desk. Camille sat with her chin in hand, leaning over her desk and Richard was gently snoring leaning back in his own chair.

Dwayne walked to their white-board and picked up the marker, but then hesitated. He walked back to Fidel's desk and, yes, a mail notification was flashing on the young policeman's screen. Dwayne shook his shoulder. “Fidel, you got mail.”

“Hmm?” Fidel raised his head and blinked sleepily, then looked up at Dwayne, who nodded at the screen. Fidel's gaze turned in the indicated direction and he straightened when he saw the email notification. “That's the blogging site again. Good news, I hope.”

Camille and Richard both were woken up by the brief exchange that cut through the previously prevailing silence.

“What's going on?” Camille asked, forcing herself awake and pushing out of her chair.

“A reply from the blogging site,” Fidel repeated. “They sent the IP address used to create the page.”

“Jolly good,” Richard, who had blinked himself awake, too, commented. “How long will you need to track it down?”

“Depends,” Fidel clicked and tapped at his keyboard for a few minutes. “The IP belongs to a VPN service,” he said with a sigh. “One that says it's not keeping logs. A dead end.”

“What about the email provider?” Camille wasn't willing to give up just yet.

“No word from them, yet.”

Richard was on his feet now, too. He'd walked to the white-board and studied it while Fidel had been working. “Where's my marker?”

“Oh, right here, Chief.” Dwayne held it up. “I thought I add what I learned from the investigator yesterday, but then this computer business distracted me.”

“Well, let's hear it then.” Richard had approached and now snatched his marker back.

Dwayne quickly recounted what little he'd learned from Ray.

“And you believe his story?”

“Absolutely, Chief. When I told him what his photos were used for, he turned serious real fast.”

Richard added the name 'John Smith', 'local?' and the dates of the assignment and exchange of photos for money as well as the location to the board.

“Alright, so where does this lead us?”

“What about the list you were drawing up last night?” Camille enquired. “Anyone local who might want you dead?”

“No one who's not in prison, I don't think.”

“Could this John Smith simply be another hired help?” Fidel suggested. “We've established that we're looking for someone who uses others to do the dirty work for him. What if it's not someone local, but he's only paying locals to help him?”

“You have to be so negative, Fidel? How we supposed to catch someone like that?”

“By tracking down his local aides and questioning them. Dwayne, look into the CCTV angle. Maybe we get lucky and have a shot of the person who put the posters up somewhere. Camille, we need access to the investigator's phone records. The number might have been withheld from him, but it must be in the logs of the phone company.”

“I'll get right onto it.”

“And what will I do, Sir?” Fidel asked excitedly, hoping for an interesting assignment.

“You will drive me home so I can take a shower and get changed. I can't attend a college reunion like this.”

“College reunion? You've not mentioned this before.” Camille had the receiver of her phone in hand already, but was looking at Richard in surprise instead of dialling.

“Hadn't I? Well, I guess there are many things I never mention. Anyway, it's this afternoon at a holiday rental up in the hills. I think you'll agree I should be safer there than out on the streets of Honoré.”

“I'll drive you there and if you call, I'll also come and pick you up afterwards,” Fidel offered.

“Thank you, Fidel, but I think I'll be safe enough taking a taxi. It'll draw far less attention than the Land Rover.”

“What college reunion? Here on Saint-Marie?!” Camille still was surprised by this even happening.

“Heaven knows why they chose this spot. London would have seemed more logical, but some fellow students are here for a reunion and they've asked me to join them.”

“Good for you,” Camille enthused. “You must be looking forward to catching up with them.”

The look Richard bestowed upon her clearly said he wasn't. Camille rolled her eyes and started dialling.

“Fidel?”

Fidel picked up the car keys. “Ready, Sir.”

“Good, we'll be back in an hour,” Richard told the room at large and strode out with Fidel following suit.

 

**An hour later...**

“Where has Dwayne gone?” Richard asked when he found Camille on her own at the station.

“Gone to look at the CCTV of two shops close to where he found posters.”

“Two, I had hoped for more, but I suppose two are a decent amount for Honoré.”

Fidel, who had entered behind him, sat down at his desk and turned on his computer monitor. “The email company got back to me.” He opened the email, looked at a note he'd taken earlier, and sighed. “The same IP as with the blogging site.”

“We should get access to the phone logs by afternoon,” Camille updated them. “Looks like our best bet at the moment.”

“Quite possibly,” Richard agreed. “Unless Dwayne has more success than we've had so far.”

“I wouldn't hold my breath.”

“No, neither would I. Which is why I've been thinking. We might have to give this man,”

“Or woman,” Camille interrupted.

“... this person what he or she wants,” Richard finished his sentence.

“How do you mean?”

“Come on, Camille, it's obvious. I have to die.”

“What on earth are you talking about?”

“Not really, of course. You know, stage my death. The website says that contact information will be made available after the news of my death breaks. So let's do that.”

“Only you stand out from the crowd. Way too many people will recognise you walking the streets. It won't be credible.”

“You're not listening, Camille. I said I need to _stage_ my death, not just hand the media a fake report.”

“How do you want to do that?”

“I'm glad you're asking, Fidel.” Richard turned to his desk to find pen and paper. “I need you to get me a few items...” He scribbled down a short list and handed it over to the young sergeant.

Fidel frowned as he read the list. “Where am I supposed to find something like that?”

“A costume rental would seem the obvious starting point. You could also ask the local theatre company where they acquire their props.”

“Yes, Sir.”

As he turned for the door, Dwayne reappeared.

“No luck?” Fidel asked, going by Dwayne's expression.

“Not one bit. One place only keeps the tapes for two days, the other's has nothing on interest except I'm now sure the posters were put up the night to Sunday. The image was so grainy in the dark, though, it was nothing more than a dark blur what approached a tree, stood there for a moment and moved on.”

“There you go then, it seems my death is the only way forward. Off you go, Fidel.”

“Your death?!” Dwayne sounded confused, having missed the previous exchange. “That's what we're trying to prevent, Chief!”

“Of course it is, Dwayne. Bring him up to speed, please, Camille.”


	7. Chapter 7

**Present time**

“We hadn't expected the Inspector to go through with the plan so quickly, though,” Camille finished her report.

Patterson had listened calmly to the whole story. “I see. And you failed to agree on how to set up the séance after his death.”

Dwayne couldn't help but grin at the wording, but Fidel nudged him in the ribs hard enough to wipe it off his face again.

“As I said, Sir, we hadn't expected it would happen quite so quickly.”

“So, how do you want to go on from here? Just wait for him to contact you?”

It was Fidel who spoke up. “Actually I think he won't try that, Sir. He'll be lying low somewhere so no one will prove the news reports wrong.”

“I think he has made contact and we just haven't understood the message. There's something wrong about the staged murder scene, but I can't quite put my finger on what. Aside from the book. That bothered me from the start. Why would he bring that book?”

“As far as I'm aware Inspector Poole is an avid reader,” Patterson commented.

“Yes, but he can't read French.” She pointed to the photos they had taken at the scene of Richard's staged murder. 

“Stendhal – Le Rouge et le Noir”, Patterson read. “I presume you have checked for any notes hidden in it.”

“Nothing,” Dwayne said. “We tracked down the taxi driver who took him up into the hills. The Chief had asked him to stop at a book-store where he bought it. It was as good as new.”

“But why did he buy a book he can't read?”

“Maybe he knows the English edition?”

“And wants to learn French by comparing the words to what he remembers?” Camille clearly dismissed Dwayne's suggestion.

“Ah, but what if he does? Is anyone familiar with the book, the story, characters, places?”

Heads shook all around. 

“I bet I can find a quick summary online, though,” Fidel said and strode to his desk. He soon had found a wikipedia page and read out the brief information presented there.

Camille frowned. “I don't see how any of that would tell us how to contact him.

“Me neither,” Dwayne confirmed.

Fidel still studied the article, then got up and walked to where the actual copy of the book lay. “This one has a different cover from what's shown in the article.”

“A different edition, but that won't alter the content, Sergeant Best.”

“No, Sir, of course not. But we assumed the inspector knew the book. What if he didn't? What if it's something about the look of the book? There is, for example, a clock on this cover.” He pointed to the picture of a clock showing nine. “A time for use to meet him, maybe?”

“On a ladder?” Dwayne didn't sound convinced.

“I guess not. But what else is there?”

“A garden with red flowers.”

“There are plenty of those on Saint-Marie.”

“True, but only one bed and breakfast called La Fleur Rouge.”

“I'll call and ask for him.” Fidel reached for his phone but Dwayne dampened his spirits.

“I doubt the Chief will be staying there under his own name.”

“True. Uhm, what about this character from the book? He can recognise names even if he doesn't understand the story.”

“Someone who doesn't speak a word of French using a French name?”

“A very good point. I suggest one of you had better check in person.”

“I'll go,” Dwayne offered.

“No, I'll go, Dwayne. Your uniform would raise too many questions.”

“And I trust I will be kept up to date from here on,” Patterson stated rather than requested.


	8. Chapter 8

**At La Fleur Rouge**

The little bed and breakfast was located on the eastern outskirts of Honoré. As Camille approached, she soon realised how the place had acquired its name: At its back was a garden overflowing with red flowers; their sweet aroma hung heavily in the air.

Camille entered and looked around. There was no check-in desk like at a hotel, but there was a door marked 'office' on one side. She knocked.

“Oui?”

She entered and closed the door behind her. An elderly man sat at a desk and was shuffling through some papers.

“Salut,” he greeted her.

“Hello. I'm DS Camille Borday.” She showed him her badge. “I'm looking for a man I suspect is staying here. I need to see your guest register.”

The man looked at her with big eyes for a moment, before he pushed himself to his feet. “Bien sure – of course.” He took a ledger out of a shelf and presented it to her with a worried expression. “Is he dangerous, this man?”

Camille ignored him and flipped open the ledger. Only three rooms were occupied. One by a French couple, one by an American, and one by a Mr. Richardson from Poole.

“Where is room four?”

“Second floor, on the right.”

“Thank you.” Camille handed back the ledger and left the office. A moment later she knocked on the door to room four. The door was opened only a crack, but enough for her to make out part of Richard's face.

“Mr. Richardson?”

“Good God, Camille. Come in.” He opened the door to let her in, then looked left and right before he shut the door again. “What took you so long?!”

“You didn't leave the easiest of clues for us,” Camille said defensively.

“Yes, well, I didn't have a lot of time to plan.”

“Why didn't you tell us you wanted to do this so soon?”

“I only decided to do it on the way to the reunion, so I had to improvise.”

“You could have given the taxi driver a note to deliver to us.”

“Too obvious. He'd have read it and spoilt the whole plan. Never mind that, you're here now. So, is the contact information available yet?”

“It wasn't when I left the station, but we can check.” Camille got out her phone and called up the website. The text had indeed changed, it now read:

> Congratulations, you've done it. Contact me with the details.

It was followed by an email address that seemed to consist of random numbers and letters.

“Free email provider, I'll have Fidel check, but I bet he only accesses it through the VPN, as before.”

“Probably. Well, I'll have to send him a message, arrange a meeting.”

“You? No way. You're staying here. Remember what we talked about yesterday? You standing out like a sore thumb and all that?”

“I'll arrange to meet him in the dark.”

“Too dangerous. Also, he might not agree to meet you at all. Just think of the transaction with Ray. He simply deposited the money.”

“You know, Camille, I'm still surprised he's actually doing this.”

“What do you mean?”

“He thinks he got what he wanted – I'm dead. As no one knows who he is, why is he standing by his promise to pay the bounty?”

Camille shrugged. “Honour among thieves, that kind of thing?”

Richard seemed doubtful. “Maybe. But somehow I think there's more to this than that.”

“And you insist on being the one to head out for a meeting.”

“I do.”

“Then I'll have to get you proper clothes. You can't walk around like that.”

Richard looked himself down. “Why not? The fake blood didn't leave a stain.”

“Because,” Camille rolled her eyes at him, “you stand out like a sore thumb! If you want to go out there before this is resolved, we need to make you stand out less. I'll be back in a while.”

“Yes, alright, I get your point. But have Fidel set up one of those free email addresses for me to use when I make contact.”

“ _We_ can arrange the meeting,” Camille suggested.

“Ah, but I know the details of my death.”

It took some restraint for Camille not to roll her eyes at him again. “I'll be back in a few hours.” 

She looked Richard up and down, sizing him up, which irritated him.

“Off you go then. The sooner you return, the better.”

“On my way,” she replied defensively and turned to open the door.

“Oh, and Camille –” 

She looked at him over her shoulder, door-handle in hand already.

“In case I can't arrange a meeting for tonight, bring me some pyjamas from home.”

Camille left without another word, for it wouldn't have been very friendly words had she spoken.

 

**Three hours later**

Richard was bored out of his mind by the time Camille returned laden with a big shopping bag.

“What took you so long?” He snapped as she entered.

“I hope you don't plan to greet me with those words each time we meet from now on.” She pushed the bag into his hands.

Richard had the decency to apologize. It wasn't Camille's fault that every single book available in the bed and breakfast was in French and the TV only offered French channels.

He looked into the shopping bag, dug around in it, and frowned. “Those are not my pyjamas.”

“They are now. I thought it might seem weird if I went into my dead superior's home and came back out with a pair of pyjamas.”

“Yes, good thinking, Camille,” he conceded and placed the bag on the only chair. “What about the email address?”

She passed over a note from Fidel. “How exactly do you plan to use this email? You don't even have your phone.”

“No, but there's an internet café a few hundred meters down the street. I passed it on my way here yesterday.”

“Ah. And then how will you contact us to give us the details about the meeting?”

Richard nodded to the small desk that held a landline phone.

Camille sighed, reached into her pocket and handed Richard his mobile phone. “Whoever it is we're after, I think we can be sure he's not tracking your mobile.”

“You took an item of evidence?”

“Evidence of what? You've not been killed. There was no crime this would be evidence for. I could just as well have brought you your book. Why on earth did you choose that anyway? You don't read French.”

“I had asked my taxi driver for a quiet b&b, somewhere out of the way, and he suggested this. So I had to find something that would point you in the direction. I admit I had considered buying a gardening magazine, but the few on offer at the store had no red flowers on the cover. Or only some in a mass of other colours.”

“When all this is over I hope you'll explain your sudden decision to go ahead with this without including us.”

Richard ignored her request. “Well, it seems I have all I need now. I'll let you know when and where the meeting will take place.”

“You'd better.” Camille sat down on the bed.

Richard stared at her.

“What?”

“Why are you sitting on my bed, Camille?”

“Because you put the bag on the only chair.”

“Let me rephrase my question: Why are you still here?”

“I want to see you in those clothes.”

That made Richard reach for the bag suspiciously, wondering what Camille had brought that he hadn't yet spotted. He pulled out a white linen shirt, a pair of sand-coloured slacks and a pair of deck shoes. He checked the sizes and found they should all fit him.

“Thank you,” he said, omitting the detail he was thankful she hadn't brought a garish Hawaiian style shirt or one of those t-shirts with silly text on it that he saw way too many of on the streets.

“You're welcome. Now get changed.”

Richard didn't object. His new clothes in hand, he went into the bathroom. When he re-emerged he looked different, but Camille wasn't happy with his looks just yet. The first thing she did was pull the shirt out of his trousers so it would hang down loosely. Then she unbuttoned the shirt a little wider, opened the cuffs and rolled them up.

“There. Now you look like Mr. Richardson from Poole, who's obviously a tourist on Saint-Marie. All you need now,” she reached into the bag and produced a pair of sunglasses, “is this.” She placed them on the top of Richard's head and admired her work.

Richard had stood still and endured her correction of his style, for she did have a point. He usually did stand out, and he couldn't afford to do that now. In other circumstanced he'd have protested against her interference.

“Well, if you're content that I'm blending in now, I'd better get going.” He reached for the note with Fidel's instructions for his new email address.

“By the way, how come you've got money for this b&b? We emptied your pockets when we found you 'dead'.”

“But you didn't take away my belt.”

“You're wearing a money belt?”

“Best way to safely store some cash when travelling.”

“You're not travelling.”

“I had thought I was when I came to Saint-Marie, so I bought one at Heathrow. It came in rather handy now.”


	9. Chapter 9

**Early evening**

_“Camille? We're on,”_ Richard's voice sounded tinny through the receiver at the station.

“Wait, let me put you on speaker.” She pressed the button and waved Dwayne and Fidel over.

_“Is everyone there?”_

“We're all here, Chief.”

“It's good to hear your voice, Sir.”

_“Ah, Fidel. No luck on getting anywhere with the email address I suppose?”_

“Unfortunately not. Same as before, accessed via the VPN. The website is down, though.”

_“As I had thought. He doesn't need it any longer. Apparently he bought my story of how I killed, well, myself. Also, as this VPN business already suggested, our man is fond of playing hide and seek. He sent me coordinates for the meeting instead of naming a location. I looked it up from the internet café and it's at the botanic gardens.” He gave them the exact coordinates. “I'm to meet him at 23:30 tonight.”_

“The botanic gardens. We'll have to get there early,” Camille mused. “We'd be too easily spotted if we all arrived there at that time, even if we don't use the Land Rover and dress in plain clothes.”

“Yeah, he might call it off if he sees us,” Dwayne agreed.

“It should be easy enough to hide in the gardens. It's been a while since I was there, but we visited it every year as a school outing.”

_“Very good, you're our local expert then, Fidel.”_

“I know it, too. Couples like to go there at night for, you know, some alone time.” Dwayne added.

_“So we'll need to keep visitors out of that section of the gardens tonight.”_

“How we to do that? We can't cordon it off.”

“You said couples go there for some alone time, Dwayne. So all we need to do is occupy that section of the gardens before others get there,” Camille pointed out.

“But how are the three of us supposed to do that?”

“I could bring someone,” Dwayne suggested.

_“No strangers, Dwayne. We can't put anyone else at risk.”_

“We need a map, see how many spots there are around those coordinates that we need to occupy.”

“There's a plan on their website I believe, I'll print it out.”

A while later they had established that there only really was one spot suited for a couple that was close enough to the coordinates Richard where to meet the man who wanted him dead. Camille and Dwayne would have a late picnic there while Fidel would feign interest in a few nocturnal flowers that grew in the vicinity. 

Camille called Commissioner Patterson to update him, though she kept it brief. She didn't want to give him the chance to cancel their plan. Thankfully he didn't ask for any details she wasn't willing to provide.


	10. Chapter 10

**At night at the Botanical Gardens**

Camille and Dwayne had arrived first to make sure no real couple would settle down too close to the meeting place. They spread out a blanket and unpacked the basket Camille's mother had quickly put together at her daughter's request. 

About an hour before the meeting, Fidel arrived, checked the lie of the land and found himself a good spot from where he could quickly intervene when needed. He slowly walked a small loop around the nocturnal flowers section that never took him far from the meeting point. As he regularly stopped to admire the flowers, he was unobtrusive enough.

Richard arrived just in time for the arranged meeting. He'd left the sunglasses at the bed and breakfast, but otherwise had stuck to his new outfit. He still felt oddly naked, being out without the usual armour of one of his suits. Working undercover never really had been his thing and he'd avoided it as much as possible. But this time going undercover had been the only option he could see. He hoped it would be the last time he'd ever have to do it.

He had memorized the way to the meeting spot. Along the path he passed Camille and Dwayne, but avoided his eyes. They ignored him just the same.

Fidel was on the other side of the spot where he was to meet the man – or woman, he thought, that still wasn't clear – so he didn't see the young Sergeant. But he trusted him to be there.

He stopped when he reached a group of huge ferns that were planted at the coordinates he'd been given. Though the paths through the garden were dimly lit, he couldn't see anyone. Richard checked his watch. He was right on time. Had he been stood up after all?

Suddenly a couple of bright flashes blinded him and he cried out in surprise. While he'd been able to see well enough in the gloom of the garden, he couldn't see anything right now.

Fidel had heard his yelp, though, and came running.

“Sir?!”

“Fidel? Flashlight! A camera or something.” Richard vaguely pointed in the direction he thought the blinding light had erupted from. Slowly he lowered the other arm he had instinctively raised to protect his eyes. It was a futile gesture now that no further flashes were forthcoming.

The moment Richard stopped speaking, they heard quick but fading steps. Someone was running away. Fidel set off in the direction of the steps.

As he ran, he heard a grunt and the sound of something heavy hitting the floor. As he approached, he saw Dwayne had tackled someone to the ground.

“Gotcha!” 

Camille was approaching with a pair of handcuffs but looked up when Fidel arrived. “Is he OK?”

“Yeah, I think so.”

“Good.” She bent down and slapped the handcuffs onto the groaning man whom Dwayne held face down. Together they pulled him up and looked at each other in surprise. They had just handcuffed Jerome Marsh, the DJ of   
Radio Saint-Marie.

Fidel reached for a camera that had slid off to the side when Dwayne had tackled Marsh. It was a digital camera, so he pressed the button to review the last photos taken. Immediately a shot of Richard appeared on the small screen. Fidel showed it to Camille.

“Jerome Marsh, I'm arresting you for incitement to the murder of Detective Inspector Richard Poole,” she informed Marsh.

“I'll see if the inspector's recovered from the flashes,” Fidel said, handed the camera to Camille and walked back to look for his superior.

He soon returned with Richard striding purposefully at his side. The inspector walked up to Marsh, who paled when he recognized him.

“But – you're dead!”

“The reports of my death have been greatly exaggerated,” Richard quoted Mark Twain. “Now, Mr. Marsh, what have I done to you that you wish me dead? I don't remember our paths ever crossing until my visit at the radio station the other day.”

Marsh kept stumm. Either he was too stunned to find Richard alive, or he simply didn't want to explain.

“Well, I guess it can wait until morning. Put in him a cell for the night. And I'd appreciate if someone could drive me home.”

Dwayne and Camille took Marsh to the station in the rental car they had arrived in, which left Fidel with the task of driving Richard to his bungalow on the beach with the Land Rover he'd parked in a side street. 

As they pulled up at his place, Richard said, “I hadn't thought I'd ever say this, but I missed the old place.” He opened the car door. “Good night, Fidel. I'll see you in the morning.”

“Shall I pick you up, Sir?”

“I don't think that'll be necessary. I'm a) still dead and b) Marsh has been arrested. I should be safe.”

“Good night then, Sir.”

Richard nodded, climbed out of the car and reached into his pocket. Camille had not only brought his mobile phone to the b&b but had also included his wallet and keys in the bag, hidden under the pyjamas. 

Thinking of her, he turned back to Fidel with an afterthought. “Oh, Fidel. Someone had better organize a warrant for Marsh's lodgings and the radio station.”

“Yes, Sir,” Fidel confirmed.

Richard shut the car door and walked up to his abode, remembered that the step still needed fixing, took two steps at once, and let himself in.

“Ah, you're still here, I see,” he greeted the gecko he'd inherited with the house, pleased with the fact, but as usual unwilling to say as much. Not that he thought the animal actually understood a word of English anyway. But Richard always thought talking to an animal was better than talking to himself.


	11. Chapter 11

**Friday**

When Richard arrived at the station the next morning, once again dressed in his usual uniform of shirt, tie and dark suit, the others were already waiting for him.

“Morning, everyone. How's Marsh doing?”

“Didn't say more than thank you when I took him his breakfast,” Dwayne grumbled.

“At least he's got _some_ manners. Has someone acquired the warrants yet?”

Camille held up two folded sheets of paper. “Just waiting for you. Or do you want to try Marsh first?”

“I suspect we'll get more answers from his flat–“

“House,” Camille corrected.

“From his house than from him.”

“Good.” She stood and walked past him to the door.

Richard started to follow her, but then turned back to the office again. “I'd appreciate it if one of you could track down a carpenter to fix my porch step while we're out.”

“I know just the man,” Dwayne enthused. “Old friend who owes me a favour. He'll work at a good price.”

“As long as he does good _work_...” Richard left the sentence hanging in the air and followed Camille out to the Land Rover.

 

**At Jerome Marsh's house**

Camille had brought the keyring they had taken off Marsh upon his arrest and let them in. It was a bungalow no bigger than Richard's, though with a less impressive view.

Camille immediately spotted a laptop on the desktop. It was hibernating and woke upon the press of a key. It wasn't password-protected so she easily found the link to the software for the VPN service on Marsh's desktop. A little poking about in his documents folder produced the file for the posters.

In the meantime, Richard looked about the rest of the house. One shelf especially caught his eye; one board was filled with books about journalism, another held literature on professional photography, blogging and web-design.

While Richard studied the books, Camille got up from the desk and walked over to him. “What are you looking for?”

“A motive.”

She stood next to him and looked at the books herself.“And did you find one?”

“Maybe. Are there any news articles on the computer?”

“I think so, a couple.”

“Yes, I thought there would be.” He thought for another few seconds. “Any communication with newspapers, TV stations, anyone news related?”

“I can check.” She sat back down and called up Marsh's email software.

Richard stopped studying the books and joined her at the desk, looking on as she scrolled through Marsh's inbox and sent folder.

“Not very organised,” she complained, but something had caught Richard's eye. He pointed at the message he wanted to read.

“Yes, that's it!” He straightened. “We don't need to search the radio station, it's all here. Bring the laptop, Camille.” He didn't wait for her as he walked to the door.

Camille quickly shut the laptop, unplugged the power supply and hurried after him

 

**Honoré Police Station**

“Ah, Chief. My friend will be by later to fix your step,” Dwayne greeted his superior upon his return.

“Splendid, thank you, Dwayne. Now please get Mr. Marsh. It's time we had a chat.”

Camille walked in behind Richard and put the laptop on Fidel's desk. “See if you can connect it to the website somehow, Fidel. The VPN software is on it, as is the design of the poster.”

“I'll check the browser history,” Fidel said and reached for the computer.

Richard walked up to the white-board and studied everything on it.

“I fear we don't stand much of a chance to identify those who tried to kill you on Marsh's behalf,” Camille said, coming to stand at his side.

“Probably not,” Richard agreed.

Dwayne returned from the cells with Jerome Marsh and pushed the DJ into a chair.

Richard considered sitting down, but decided to remain standing. “Radio Saint-Marie isn't quite up to your standard, is it, Mr. Marsh?”

Marsh snorted, but said nothing.

“No, of course not. You consider yourself a proper journalist. You write news articles. But there aren't a lot of chances to prove yourself to anyone in a tiny backwater like Saint-Marie.”

Camille threw him an annoyed look, but Richard ignored her.

“Yes, there's the odd murder here, but no one is interested in them. No one outside Saint-Marie and maybe Guadeloupe is interested, and that's not enough of an audience for you.”

Marsh looked up at him, but Richard didn't wait for him to speak.

“So how to prove yourself to a big newspaper like The Times? You had to find a story that would interest people. People in other places of the world – like England. And the death of a British detective inspector here on Saint-Marie would be just that story, wouldn't it? He wouldn't even be the first, which would only make it more dramatic.”

Camille finally caught up and realisation was visible on her face. “You tried to organise a murder so you'd have a story to tell.”

“Not any murder, but mine. It would have been perfect. You had all the details, the information about the posters, you had the details on the killing from the killer himself – sent to you as proof of the murder – and you even wanted to get a photograph of the killer. A big story, an insider's account of the killing of a police inspector. I'm sure you'd have caught someone's eye with it at The Times.”

Marsh seemed proud of this scheme. “I had knowledge no one else had. An inside view of a murder. My breakthrough! I'd have passed it all on to the police afterwards of course, so the killer could be arrested.”

“How very noble of you,” Camille said sarcastically.

“Sir?” Fidel cut in, getting up from his desk.

“Yes, Fidel?”

“I found the blogging service in his browser history. The last access matches the time the website was taken down.”

“Good work, Fidel. I think we have all the evidence we need.”

Marsh was taken back to his cell until he could be processed through the system and everyone started tackling the paperwork.

After a while Richard's mobile rang and he took the call without looking at the caller id. “D.I. Poole.” Within seconds he hastily got up and hurried to the door.

The others looked up from their work as he hurried past.

“What's bitten him?” Dwayne asked.

Camille shrugged and walked to the door, trying to overhear what Richard was saying.

“No, mother, obviously I'm not dead. What? No, I'm fine, really.”

Camille snickered, but soon turned serious when she imagined the horror Richard's parents must have faced when they were told their son was dead. But how had they heard, she wondered.

A few minutes later, Richard returned, looking slightly flushed.

“Everything alright, Sir?”

“Yes, thank you Fidel. At least I think so. Who sent word to London of my presumed death?”

The others looked at each other blankly. “None of us,” Camille concluded.

“Maybe your college friends?” Dwayne suggested.

Fidel also chimed in. “Who told your parents?”

“The police. They've just been round to inform my parents of my murder!”

“If your mother thought you were dead, why did she call your mobile?”

“Because I told my parents if anything happened to me, one of you would call them immediately. And none of you had. So the first thing she did was call me.”

“Good thing she did.”

“Yes, only apparently I am officially declared dead now back home.”

“But surely that can easily be corrected? They can't have a death certificate after all.”

“Good point, Fidel. Which reminds me, it is high time I laid Mr. Richardson to rest and clear out his room at the La Fleur Rouge.”

“I'll drive,” Dwayne offered, reaching for his helmet.

“Thank you, Dwayne, but I'd rather Fidel drive me over in the Land Rover. Contrary to what some people currently believe in England, I'd like to live to see another day.”


	12. Chapter 12

**Epilogue**

While Richard didn't like 'going for a drink', he had still invited everyone to Catherine's bar in recognition of their help with this strange case.

“You still haven't explained why you chose to stage your death at your college reunion.” While Camille was reclining in her chair, the challenge was audible in her voice.

Richard hesitated and tried to cover it by lifting his tea to his lips, thus only giving the others the chance to voice their curiosity.

“Yeah, why that sudden rush-job, Chief?”

“Surely it could have waited until morning?” Fidel suggested.

“I wasn't overly keen on spending another night at the station.”

“You could have stayed somewhere else. There must be more to this,” Camille insisted.

Richard put his cup down again and suppressed a sigh. “Yes, alright. I did have an ulterior motive for the decision. Those people may have studied at the same time as I did, but that's as much as we have in common. My student days weren't made any better by being forced to endure them day in, day out.”

“And here was your chance to ruin their holiday,” Camille concluded, a disgusted expression on her face.

“I'm not saying I'm proud of my motive,” Richard defended himself and pulled out his handkerchief to dab at his neck.

“That wasn't very nice of you,” Fidel admonished.

“No, it wasn't, Chief.” Dwayne was the first to burst out laughing and to the inspector's surprise he clapped him on the shoulder. “But it sounds like something I'd done.”

Richard seemed to be both surprised and bewildered when Camille and Fidel joined in on Dwayne's laughter.

“What's so funny?”

“Oh, just the fact that you're human after all,” Camille gently gibed.

**Author's Note:**

> Dear Noxnoctisanima,
> 
> you asked for fix-it fic, you didn't want Richard to be dead. He isn't, only some people back home in England still believe he is, but I'm sure that'll be cleared up quickly. ;-) You also said you'd like him to solve a crime. I'm sorry he couldn't manage it on his own, or have an Agatha Christie style gathering of suspects and culprits at the end, but I hope you still enjoyed the case of Richard Poole's murder. 
> 
> Happy Yuletide!


End file.
